Wynter nodded again, but she was thinking about the kiss. About the way Pearce's body had tightened against hers, about the scrape of teeth over her lips and the hungry plunge of tongues, about the possessive hands that had cupped her butt and tugged her close. She shut her eyes, hoping it would stop her head from swimming.

"Holy. Holy holy holy. So what...are you gay?"

Wynter opened her eyes. "I haven't thought past her. I can't seem to think about anything except her."

"Jeez, Wynter. Maybe you should."

"Yes," Wynter said wearily. "Maybe I should."

v Rosie made Wynter's excuses to Wayne, and Wynter walked to the car, hoping against hope that she would see Pearce somewhere along the way--tucked into a doorway, her ankles crossed and that grin on her face that was an irresistible combination of amusement and cocky self-assurance, or leaning against the Thunderbird, waiting as she had been just the previous evening. Thirty-six hours that felt like forever. Her life was divided into thirty-six-hour segments, it seemed, a repetitive cycle from which she could not shift back into the routine that most of the world followed. She'd never been able to explain her work, or what it demanded of her, to anyone who hadn't experienced it. Now, that sense of alienation extended to the very core of her. She could say the words. I kissed her. It was simple enough. She even knew why. She'd done it because every atom in her body had been drawn to Pearce from the instant they'd met.

There was no one waiting at the Thunderbird except a couple of young men who stood on the sidewalk admiring its sleek lines and dazzling chrome.

"Yo, lady," one of them said. "Some fine ride."

Wynter unlocked the driver's door. "It is, isn't it."

"Your old man do the restoration?"

"Not exactly." Wynter slid in and took a few seconds to acquaint herself with the gauges and gears. Fortunately, she wasn't intimidated by anything mechanical, and although she hadn't driven anything quite like this before, she knew that she could. She pulled out carefully at the first sign of a break in the traffic that crawled down the two-lane, one-way thoroughfare and quickly headed for one of the less populated streets to return to West Philadelphia. She didn't want anything to happen to this car.

Once she felt comfortable, she fished around in the deep pocket of her leather coat and found her cell phone. She had Pearce's cell programmed in, just as she had the numbers of all the other residents on the service, and they had hers. She tried the number, her heart hammering. When she got voicemail, she didn't leave a message. What could she say? What had she intended to say if Pearce had answered? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kiss you? No, because that wasn't true. She hadn't thought about it, she hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, but she'd meant it.

She disconnected and pushed one on the speed dial for the most important number in her life, the hospital operator. When the call was answered, she identified herself and asked to be put through to Dr.

Pearce Rifkin's home number.

"I can do that, Doctor, but Dr. Rifkin is here in the hospital. Would you like me to page her for you?"

"Yes, please," Wynter said. She wasn't surprised, now that she thought about it. Pearce rarely spent any time at home even when she wasn't on call. She felt a surge of irrational relief that Pearce hadn't gone to O'Malley's or some other place looking for a diversion, then laughed at her own self-deception. Pearce could find all the company she needed in the hospital if she wanted it.

As if to prove the point, a woman came on the line. A woman who wasn't Pearce.

"Are you paging Dr. Rifkin?" the woman asked imperiously.

Wynter tried desperately to place the voice. She thought she would recognize Tammy's, because they ran into each other a fair amount in the OR lounge. Andrea she wasn't too sure of. She snapped, "Yes I am.

This is Dr. Thompson."

"Dr. Rifkin is scrubbed in the OR. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No. Thanks." Wynter disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket.

She rubbed her eyes, feeling them burn with frustration and fatigue. Whatever she was going to say, she had to say in person. Pearce deserved that.


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Wynter slept fitfully. The new house was too quiet with Ronnie gone. With just the two of them now, Wynter kept both of their bedroom doors open to monitor the small sounds her daughter made in the night. The bedroom was hot, stuffy, and she irritably kicked off the covers in a light doze. Her skin burned, despite the damp film of stress sweat. She was used to this anxious half sleep from being on call, when every night resembled this one; but usually when she was home, she slept like the dead. Tonight, her mind wouldn't stop racing, replaying every minute of the evening until she was once again in Pearce's arms, their mouths and bodies cleaved. Each time she relived the memory she grew aroused, her thighs tight and her stomach twisting with need.

At 5:00 a.m. she finally got up, showered, and went next door to Mina and Ken's. She let herself in and crept quietly up the stairs to the room where Ronnie slept with Winston when she stayed overnight.

When Wynter peeked in the room, she saw what she expected: Ronnie was awake, carrying on an earnest and animated one-sided conversation with a stuffed rabbit. Winston, apparently used to Ronnie's early morning monologues, slept on. Stepping carefully over toys, Wynter scooped Ronnie up and tiptoed out. She left a quick note in the kitchen for Mina, writing one-handed while she balanced Ronnie on her opposite hip.

On the short trip home, she said, "How would you like to go out to the diner with Mommy for breakfast, honey?"

Ronnie and the rabbit thought it was a great idea. Thirty minutes later, with Ronnie washed and dressed and carrying Mr. Bunny, Wynter buckled her into the child seat in the rear of her Volvo wagon and headed for the Melrose Diner in South Philly. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it was a perfect place for a fast meal and a chance to think. Unfortunately, by the time she returned home an hour and a half later, her stomach was full but her head was no clearer.

She took Ronnie inside and settled her on the bed with her favorite books and toys while she curled up next to her with a newspaper. It was all for show, because she couldn't concentrate on anything. Fortunately, Ronnie required little in the way of focused conversation. When her cell phone rang Wynter snatched it up, trying not to be disappointed when she recognized the number.

"Hi, Mina," she said.

"I take it that really was you who kidnapped our little darling before sunrise this morning."

Wynter couldn't help smiling. "Guilty. Are you interested in the ransom demands?"

"Of course. How much are you going to pay me to take her back?"

"I don't think I've got enough saved." At that moment, Ronnie crawled into her lap and closed her eyes. "However, right this minute, she does resemble an angel. Maybe we could negotiate price."

"Must be nap time."

"You've got it." Wynter nuzzled the top of Ronnie's head, soothed by the smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and innocence.

"How come you didn't stay for breakfast?"

"It was early. I knew we'd just wake up the whole house."

"Did you eat?"

"We went to the Melrose."

There was a moment of silence. "The Melrose. On a Saturday morning."

"Uh-huh."

"Something happen I should know about?"

"How do you do that?" Wynter closed her eyes and stroked her daughter's soft hair.

"Doctors, especially surgeons and anesthesiologists, are creatures of habit. You have very few and very predictable responses to stress.

Ken eats ice cream out of the carton by the gallon and forgets about sex.

You go to the Melrose and brood."

"Ken really forgets about sex?"

"Get Ronnie settled. I'm coming over."

Wynter was in the kitchen making tea when Mina arrived. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Do you want some toast?"

"I'm fine. So tell me what happened, and don't dance around."

"We went to the concert," Wynter said as she carried two mugs of tea to the table. "It was wild. I don't know if it was that place or the music or the fact that I haven't been out on a date in years, but I..." She stopped and stared at Mina. A date. "Well. I guess that answers your question from last night."

Mina sipped her tea and said nothing.

"I felt so good. A little bit crazy. She put her arms around me and every nerve in my body fired at once." She smiled, remembering how alive she'd felt. "I turned and kissed her. I couldn't seem to get enough of her." Her voice drifted off as she tried to recognize herself in that kiss and failed. Confused, she met Mina's warm, kind gaze. "I think I scared her. She left in a hurry, and I haven't talked to her since."

"Were you scared?"

"Scared." Wynter tried the word on for size, then shook her head.

"No. No, I wasn't. Or uneasy or embarrassed. I was just...nuts for her."

Mina drummed her fingers lightly on the tabletop, a slight frown of concentration breaking the smooth contours of her forehead. "It's funny, the things we don't know about our friends. I've known you, what? Going on eight years, maybe?"

Wynter nodded and pushed her tea aside. Her stomach had tied itself into a knot.

"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Mina asked.

"No," Wynter said softly.

"Ever wanted to?"

"If you'd asked me three months ago, I would have said no."

Wynter looked at Mina, but her gaze was unfocused as she searched the past. "I always had a lot of friends growing up. Our community was small and pretty tight. All the kids hung out together in one big social group all the way through high school, boys and girls both. We didn't pair off the way a lot of kids seem to do. I thought of boys as friends first, I guess, and boyfriends second. Naturally, I was closer to my girl friends."

"So you never had any indication that maybe you liked girls as more than friends?"

"No," Wynter said, but she sounded uncertain.

"What?"

"I told you about Match Day. I bumped into Pearce," Wynter smiled, "literally. She looked a little younger and tougher then. Still just as beautiful as she is now, though. I just kind of got lost in her." She looked at Mina and shook her head, unable to find the words to describe what she felt. "I just wanted to be with her. When she started to kiss me that day, I wanted that more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. It made no sense, and I never even questioned it."

"What happened?"

Wynter snorted. "Dave called at the critical moment. And I suddenly realized that I was about to kiss a woman who happened to be a total stranger. I left her there, and I didn't see her again until a couple of months ago."

"But you thought about her."

"Yes."

"That way."

"Yes. Sometimes. For just a second, and then I'd brush it away."

Wynter sighed. "I was pregnant when I met her, Dave and I were ready to move to Yale and start our residencies, and I thought it was just a fluke. Just a moment of perfect insanity."

"Like last night."

Wynter shook her head. "No. Last night was a thousand times better."

Mina laughed. "Woo-ie, you are in a bad way."

"This is serious, Mina. Pearce was really upset. She walked out of the concert in the middle of the night, left her car, and went to the hospital."

"She's probably scared right down to the tips of those big black sexy boots of hers."

Wynter frowned. "Why?"

"Oh come on, sweetie. You're a divorced mother, straight as far as everyone including you can tell. She probably thinks you're just...

playing--you know, experimenting."

Wynter rose quickly and strode to the sink, dashing the now-tepid tea into the drain so forcefully it splashed out. "That's ridiculous. I would never do that."

"Well, she probably doesn't know that."

"Well, she should."

"Honey," Mina said, rising slowly, "you might have to do some explaining. Because I'll tell you one thing. She's got a serious case for you."

Her heart racing, Wynter asked softly, "You think?"

"I know. It's written all over that beautiful face of hers."